I have spent the past 8 days dealing with an awful case of hives, and the past two in a Benadryl induced coma to keep me from tearing my skin off.  I had hives from my scalp and eyelids, all the way down between my toes.  Maddening!  Two other times in my adult life I have had similar outbreaks, and each time they have been brought on by stress.  Do you think my body is trying to tell me that I do not process stress very well?  Clearly I don’t, and I absolutely believe that my Fibromyalgia is also a function of this. 

Although it was a traumatic injury that caused the onset of my FM, I think maybe I had a predisposition to the condition, the same predisposition that makes me an excellent candidate for a hives outbreak. 

I have always believed I am much tougher than I actually am.  As a small girl I would rough house with my Dad and Uncle.  They would swat me down and toss me aside like the little nuisance I was, but I would never stop.  I would go back and back and back, thinking eventually I would get the best of them, eventually I would succeed, but of course I never did.  But I never let myself give up.  They always had to make me quit.  My Uncle tells me that this is the thing he remembers best and loves most about me.  It is not only that I couldn’t quit, it is also that somehow I knew I never wanted to show or give into my weaknesses.  I don’t think I actually believed I could ever beat them, but if I kept at it, I would never have to admit to them or to myself that I was weaker.

I have pretty much lived my entire adult life the same way.  I don’t know how to say no when challenged with something.  I don’t know how to ask for help.  I don’t know how to show any kind of weakness.  And I don’t know how to slow down until my body breaks down and tells me it is time to quit.  Even after 11 years of living with Fibromyalgia, I still have an incredibly hard time admitting when I hurt, showing any kind of weakness, and asking for any kind of help or understanding.  I can smile and socialize through most any flare-up, only to come crashing down when no one is looking.

Two years ago I was in a terrible rear-end collision.  When I got to Urgent Care I was asked to rate my pain level on a scale of 1-10.  I said 4.  What I really should have said was 8-9, but then that would have been admitting weakness.  That would have been a plea for help.  I am just not wired that way.  I will always underestimate and underreport my needs and my condition.  And yes as I sit here writing this I can logically see that I am only hurting myself by being this way, but how do you change a life long behavior?

Before my accident two years ago my primary care doctor recommended I see a counselor.  She believes that there is a link between FM and early childhood.  I had always silently believed I could benefit from counseling, but I resisted for many reasons.  I am really good at compartmentalizing my life.  I hang on tightly to the good and suppress the bad.  I know this about myself and I did not want to be forced to face or deal with the things I have suppressed.  But then maybe all of my suppressions are the very things that make me predisposed to Fibromyalgia.  I decided to give it a try and soon began meeting once a week with a very nice therapist.  We bonded instantly over our love of animals. 

I was comfortable with her, but still reserved.  It was maybe into my first or second session with her that she told me I am a caretaker.  Without a hesitation I shot back “No I’m not.  I am actually kind of a selfish person,” and this is truly what I believe.  I think there is a fine line between caretaker and control freak.  I consider myself the later.  I love to take care of and do things for my husband, but if I am completely honest it is also that I don’t like to let go of the control.  This has caused quite a few arguments in our marriage.  Poor guy, sometimes feels like he can’t do anything right.  He wants to help me and relieve some of my burdens, but if he doesn’t do things the way I would I get stressed and end up taking over.  Not fair. 

My therapist never changed her “caretaker” analysis of me, but she did admit that I would benefit if I could just learn to let go a little.  Her suggestion for how I could achieve this – to start writing.  I can’t tell you how much I resisted this.  Seems crazy now that I am pouring all of this out, but I simply could not write.  She would send me home with exercises and I would never do them; could never do them.  Finally she tried a visualization technique with me.  The first time we tried it went nowhere.  I was unable to relax enough.  The second time it was different.  Maybe she caught me on the one day of the year that I let my guard down, but as I closed my eyes and listened to her gently lead me, I felt myself letting go.

She asked me to visualize a safe place.  A place where I could go and let down all my defenses and just write.  All of a sudden I found myself walking through a beautiful lush forest.  The air was cool but not cold, and the ground was soft beneath my feet.  Up ahead I could see a doorway to a log cabin.  I entered without fear and found myself in a large one-room cabin built into a hillside.  The wall to my right was one giant floor-to-ceiling bookshelf stuffed with books.  To the left was a big comfy couch.  And straight ahead was a beautiful wooden desk facing out on the valley below.  The room was light and airy because the entire front wall of the cabin was windows. 

Even though logically I could still feel myself in my counselor’s office, I was somehow transported to this cabin – to my cabin.  To the safe place I created, where I hoped I could sit and write and let everything go. 

Then she asked me to look around and tell her if I was alone.  I was.  She asked me to try to visualize my guide.  She said I would need a guide, someone to help me break through my barriers so I could begin to write.  I looked around but there was no one.  She prodded me further stating that it would probably be someone I knew, someone I trusted.  I tried but I couldn’t find my guide.  I found myself walking up to the great expanse of window looking out on the beauty in front of me.  And then I looked down and there was a bear – a great big, giant black bear, and he was eating.  I told her about the bear and she asked me, “Is he your guide?”  I looked down at him, and asked without saying a word.  He looked back up to me and replied with a slow shake of his head.  He was not my guide.  He was my protector.  I started crying – a deep, long stored, uncontrollable cry.  I could not stop.  My counselor gently brought me out of my visualization and I sat there drained.  She looked at me and smiled.  “We have some work to do.”

And then the accident happened.  I stopped my sessions during my rehabilitation and have not been back.  But I think the fact that I am sitting here today writing about this proves that I have made some progress on my own.  She gets all the credit for getting me started.  I think about the cabin and the bear – a lot.  I love that bear.  I still have not found my guide, but maybe this journey I am taking through Fibromyalgia Haven will help me with my search.

I definitely believe this blog is helping me to open up and let go of some of my control.  I missed it the last couple of days that I took off because of the hives and during the time I was in Hawaii.  I am drawn to it several times throughout the day even though I know it has not changed.  Maybe Fibrohaven is my cabin in the woods.  At the very least it is a beginning, a very early beginning.  This week the hives came and reminded me – I have some work to do!